


Facts and Figures

by Nevanna



Category: Jekyll (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevanna/pseuds/Nevanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things that Tom has learned about Claire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Facts and Figures

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on 6/28/11. It takes place before the events of the miniseries. **Warning** for implied sex.

1\. 

Claire works for an interior design company that caters to the elite of London. On their third date, she tells funny stories about her clients, her bracelets flashing as she gestures. As it turns out, she helped to redecorate two of the offices at the Klein and Utterson Institute, one as recently as two years ago. “So we might have passed right by each other,” she remarks.

“I think I’d remember that,” Tom says.

She tosses her heavy fall of dark hair. “Too right, you would.”

2.

Claire has three scars, at last count: one on the sole of her foot, which she says came from stepping on a piece of broken china; one on her bicep, where an old lover’s name was lasered off; and one on her left shoulder blade. “What’s this?” Tom asks her, tracing it with a finger in the blue dusk that fills his bedroom.

She rolls over to face him and props herself up on one elbow. “Oh, it’s from a government experiment.” She lets half a minute of silence pass. “Joking. But that was quite a face you made. Did you believe me?”

“I was trying to figure out if _you_ believed it.”

She runs her hand over his chest. “At least I didn’t say it was from little green men on Mars,” she murmurs.

“Well, I’m not so sure about Mars, but statistically, it’s highly improbable that we’re the only sentient life-forms in the known universe –“ Claire’s hand moves further down, and Tom stops talking.

Later, he wakes with a start, certain – even in the silence – that he heard somebody knocking at the door. He holds Claire closer still, kisses the silvery seam on her shoulder. Years later, when he no longer trusts himself to go anywhere near her, he will still imagine her scent and the feel of her skin just before he opens his eyes, and he will wonder again how much she’s willing to believe.

3.

When she was eighteen, after leaving school but before she even considered university, Claire followed a group of her friends to Birmingham, where they planned to busk and scavenge and live out of a van like vagabonds. “We thought we were telling the establishment to shove it,” she says, peering into the bubbling pot of curry. “’Course, I don’t think that the establishment much cared. And I’d much rather be able to shower more than once a week.”

“We all do foolish things when we’re young.” Tom glances about. “Wineglasses?”

“Above the sink. Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Do foolish things? Go on; scandalize me.”

Tom sets down the wineglasses to stare at her. “Is there _anything_ that would scandalize you?”

“Think of it as a challenge.” She winks at him. “Mum and Dad gave me hell when I turned up on their doorstep again. Of course, I gave them plenty of hell, too, before I left.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.” She brought him home to meet her mother and father after nearly two months had passed and, though they never properly declared that they were in a relationship, it had started to seem odd and jarring when they went more than a few days without seeing or touching each other. The elder Reillys have a flower garden, and parakeets, and porcelain knick-knacks on their shelves, and are clearly very fond of their daughter, as she is of them.

“Oh, everything is fine now, but I wouldn’t have minded at the time if they had dropped off the face of…” She catches his eyes, and all the laughter goes out of hers. “Never mind.” She knows that his mother abandoned him; besides Peter Syme, his closest friend and colleague, she’s the only person he’s told.

Tom catches her hand in his for a moment, lacing their fingers together. It’s the first time he’s heard Claire reconsider anything she’s said. “It’s all right. It’s never bothered me.” 

“Live in the present. That’s the spirit.” She gives him a quick kiss. “Fetch us some spoons, will you?”

4.

Claire may live in the present, but Tom is fairly certain that she knows what kind of life she wants. That she’s seen it in the opulent homes and offices that she’s helped to decorate, in the travel magazines that she hoards like a dragon with a mound of treasure. He doesn’t know if he’s imagining the wistful tone in her voice when she speaks of her parents’ comfort and ease with each other. Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking on his part.

There are tiny fairy lights wound round the terrace where they’re taking their dinner, and a breeze has come up off the Thames. When the waiter clears their plates away, Tom doesn’t even notice. “Where are you?” Claire asks. “You’re even twitchier than usual.”

He swallows hard. Eight months have gone by, and she hasn’t gotten bored with him and moved on to another high-earning conquest. Is it too soon, still? “I’m thinking about what comes next.”

“Oh, really?” Her dark red lips curl into a smile. “Care to share the details? Or do you want me to be pleasantly surprised? We have all night.”

“Actually. I was thinking more in terms of the rest of our lives.” He reaches into his coat for the tiny velvet box, trying not to trip over the words. “If you’ll have me, that is.“

Her eyes are sparkling. “Of course I will, silly.”

When he slips the ring onto her finger, the diners at the next table, and then the ones next to them, start clapping. Tom forgets, for now, that he was ever anything other than completely sure.

5\. 

Claire is not afraid.

“You don’t think I understand, do you?” she asked, early in their engagement. It was the first thing she’d said to him in days. The row had started over something small, as these things did, and ended with raised voices and slammed doors. “You think I’m some flighty creature for you to tame and tether, and that I don’t already get it. It’s not going to be all carnivals and candlelight dinners and exotic holidays and fantastic sex. It’s going to be ugly and messy and frustrating as anything. We’re going to want to kill each other sometimes, and if we find something wonderful in between, we’re going to work our arses off to hold onto it. Because it _will_ be wonderful.”

Now, well into the wedding reception, Tom slips away from her to refill his drink. Peter, the best man, is turning his dry, professorial charm full force on the girl behind the bar. As soon as she flutters away, he turns to his friend. “What, then? No lecture about how she’s young enough to be my daughter?”

“I know precisely how far I get when I try and tell you how to conduct your life,” Tom answers with a shrug. “Besides, I’m having a good day.” Claire is seated a few tables away, gently wiping frosting from the cheek of a very small Reilly cousin, or perhaps family friend; he can’t remember which.

“One can only hope that you’ll enjoy quite a few more of those.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Do try telling that to my ex-wives.” Peter follows his gaze. “How far along is she?”

Tom spits an ice cube back into his glass. “How did you know?”

“She didn’t take even a sip of champagne. It was an educated guess.” For a moment, Tom thinks that Peter Syme might actually smile, but he should know better than to expect miracles, even on a day like this. “I suppose that congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t sound very thankful,” Peter observes. “Now, I’m no expert, but…”

“I’m not saying that I don’t want a child. We both do.” If Tom had a bit more to drink, he’d go on about how he hoped to be the kind of father that he was never fortunate enough to have, or even start talking about the horrible dreams he’s been having. They’re all full of the smell of blood and ashes, with a horribly familiar voice sneering in his ear. _Hullo, Daddy…_ “Only I’ve never taken care of anything more complex than a tropical fish or a one-celled specimen.”

“Well, that puts you ahead of some new parents, doesn’t it?” Peter says. “You and Claire were made for each other, Tom. No matter what you believe now, I think you’ll be able to face just about anything.”

Claire glides over to them. “Whatever business you two have, it can wait,” she announces. “I’ll be stealing my husband for one more dance before we all turn into pumpkins.”

“Of course.” Peter lifts his own glass. “Good luck to you both.”

Tom nods his thanks before following his beautiful, funny, frustrating, fearless wife onto the dance floor. Whatever the journey, he can’t think of anybody he’d rather have by his side.


End file.
